


my sunshine (illuminate all my cracks and my faults, while you're at it)

by crimesiscrying



Series: sbi modern fantasy au fuckers [2]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Adoptive Parent Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Angst, Baby Floris | Fundy, Child Neglect, Depression, Dissociation, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Eating Disorders, Family Angst, Fox Hybrid Floris | Fundy, Hurt No Comfort, Hybrid Floris | Fundy, Hybrid Wilbur Soot, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Implied/Referenced Underage Drinking, Insomnia, Mentioned TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Not Beta Read, Parenthood, References to Depression, Sad Wilbur Soot, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Sleepy Bois Inc Angst, Sleepy Bois Inc as Family, Suicidal Ideation, Suicidal Thoughts, Thinks About It, Trans Floris | Fundy, Underage Drinking, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Wilbur Soot Angst, Wilbur Soot is Floris | Fundy's Parent, Wilbur Soot is Not Okay, Winged Wilbur Soot, bc he is a baby and hasn't figured out his identity yet, by our father's blade, comes later in the series, fairy hybrid wilbur soot, kind of, nothing happens to either of them dw, rated m for Mmmm depression, she/her pronouns for fundy, some good ol background, we die like canon wilbur, wilbur doesn't mean to but that doesn't mean that it didn't happen, wilbur is going through it, wilbur just, wilbur soot is trying his best
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-16 11:59:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29700213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimesiscrying/pseuds/crimesiscrying
Summary: This apartment, this city, Wilbur himself were falling apart from the seams, covered in so many patches and stitches that Wilbur really wasn’t sure what the original thing had looked like at all. The lack of color and the marks of age and the scars and the wounds didn’t really bother him when he never thought the original was meant to be anything but ruined.But now, there was someone else in his life. There was somebody who had taken up hopefully permanent residence in his home and his heart, and suddenly the stitches and cover-ups and scuff marks and bruises looked a lot uglier in the bright sunlight. Fundy was something beautiful, something so bright and good that it hurt to look at her sometimes, and her presence made Wilbur all the more aware of all the sharp edges and pitfalls that made up his being.-Wilbur is a teenage dad, living on his own with his 6-month-old daughter after leaving his adoptive father's home without as much as a goodbye. Turns out that parenthood is a lot more difficult than people make it out to be, especially when you still have a lot of your own growing up to do.
Relationships: Floris | Fundy & Wilbur Soot, No Romantic Relationship(s)
Series: sbi modern fantasy au fuckers [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2179233
Comments: 16
Kudos: 110





	my sunshine (illuminate all my cracks and my faults, while you're at it)

**Author's Note:**

> wilbur soot going through it? in MY christian minecraft fanfic? it's more likely than you'd think, fucker.
> 
> anyway this fic has some pretty heavy topics (depression, suicidal thoughts, self-harm, alcohol as a coping mechanism, unhealthy eating habits/implied eating disorders) so proceed with caution, don't read if you don't think you'll be okay and take care of yourself <3
> 
> also my twitter is @ascullian so take a look at there why don't you aha haha ha

Wilbur was tired. Scratch that, he was fucking exhausted. It was the kind of exhaustion that sleep couldn't fix, and currently it was causing him to sit on the floor of his bedroom, holding his crying daughter in his arms and crying along because damn it, he was tired and scared and so, so fucking alone and there was a child in his arms and the thought of being in charge of keeping her safe and warm and fed and okay was terrifying. Wilbur was barely able to keep himself alive, let alone a small, helpless human being who had done nothing wrong to deserve being stuck with the kind of fuck-up of a father he was.

Wilbur adjusted his hold on the still-crying child and pressed a kiss on the red curls crowning her head. They were sticky with sweat and thinking about it only served to make him feel worse about everything, so he did his best to wipe them off her forehead and pulled the child, his daughter, closer to his chest.

“Floris, Fundy, my little champion,” he muttered against the top of her head. “Dad loves you so much, okay? Dad's sorry it has to be like this. I’m trying my best, I swear, but it doesn't seem to work out, you know?” Of course, Fundy did not know due to the fact that she was barely 6 months old, but hearing her father's voice seemed to calm her down a bit. Wilbur kept muttering quiet nonsense and slowly, the child’s cries quieted down to small sniffles and, when Wilbur started humming some of the old songs he had written, she finally fell asleep. 

Wilbur took a deep breath, blinked furiously to get rid of the tears still clinging to his lashes, and adjusted his hold on his daughter. It was going to be okay, he told himself, it had to be. If it wasn't, Fundy would end up with no parents, one having run off somewhere in LA and the other dead and cold on the bathroom tiles. It wasn't the kind of poetic ending Wilbur had imagined for himself, but then again, fuck-ups rarely got pretty endings. 

With a near-silent curse he got up from the floor as slowly as he could and then placed Fundy into the small cot next to his bed. After adjusting his daughter on the mattress so her tail wouldn’t get squished during the night, he straightened his back and looked out of the window. The ever-present glow of the city lights was making way to a pale yellow that was swimming in the horizon, illuminating the fog that hung above the city like a suffocating, poisonous blanket. The sun was rising, which meant that Wilbur wouldn’t be able to sleep. He had meant to get a black-out curtain for the window, but then life came to kick him in the ass in the form of the currently-sleeping toddler, and he’d forgotten all about it. It wasn’t like he would be able to afford it anyway, but that was something Wilbur didn’t like to think about, so he ignored the thought and made his way through the one-bedroom apartment and into the dingy kitchen.

It seemed that everything in his current life was, in one way or another, fucked up. Well, everything apart from Fundy. That, however, brought up another problem; this life, whatever the fuck it was, was not good enough for the tiny child. Wilbur put the coffee machine on and leaned his forehead against the cupboards with a quiet thump. This apartment, this city, Wilbur himself were falling apart from the seams, covered in so many patches and stitches that Wilbur really wasn’t sure what the original thing had looked like at all. He had always been fucked up, he knew it, but he’d made peace with it a long time ago. The lack of color and the marks of age and the scars and the wounds didn’t really bother him when he never thought the original was meant to be anything but ruined. 

But now, there was someone else in his life. There was somebody who had taken up hopefully permanent residence in his home and his heart, and suddenly the stitches and cover-ups and scuff marks and bruises looked a lot uglier in the bright sunlight. Fundy was something beautiful, something so bright and good that it hurt to look at her sometimes, and her presence made Wilbur all the more aware of all the sharp edges and pitfalls that made up his being. 

The coffee machine quieted down. Wilbur poured himself a cup -black, because even though it tasted like shit he felt like nothing short of a nuclear war was going to properly wake him up right now- and sat down at the kitchen table. He mindlessly picked at the peeling paint on the surface of the table, letting out a curse when a splinter got stuck on the pad of his forefinger. His head felt like someone had grabbed a sledgehammer and was now going to metaphorical town behind his eyeballs. Dehydration, probably. It wasn’t like Wilbur was the prime example of basic healthcare, he’d never been. Even less so lately, if he was trying to not lie to himself, with Fundy having lost her sleep schedule like it never existed.

Sighing, Wilbur pressed his hand against his eye, cursing every single deity he could remember the name of. The list wasn't that long, and soon enough he was back to listening to the clock on the kitchen wall slowly bore its way through his skull. Idly, he wondered if his headache was going to turn into a migraine soon. 

The minutes blended together and Wilbur barely registered the passing of time before a sound he would know from anywhere broke the silence of the apartment. Fundy had woken up and was gurgling and giggling in her cot. Wilbur got up and walked to the bedroom with sluggish steps, each sound and movement sending a jolt of pain through his head. 

“Hi angel,” he sighed, leaning against the door frame and letting his head drop backwards on the wooden frame. “You’re up early today, huh?” Fundy gurgled a little louder at that and Wilbur glanced at the clock on the wall, and fuck, when did it get past midday? Wilbur picked his daughter up and walked back to the living room, debated just leaving Fundy on the floor to play and decided against it. If things were going to go the way they seemed eager to, Wilbur would probably be unable to be in the same room as the kid by the time the sun set. Might as well keep the kid close until then.

Instead of the living room floor, he took Fundy to the kitchen and deposited her on the highchair on the end of the table. “Wait there for a second darling, I’ll get you something to eat, okay?” He ruffled the kid’s hair, earning a loud squeak that pierced through his eardrums and which he absolutely did not curse at, no, he had more self-control than that. Opening the fridge seemed to only lower his mood; he’d have to get more baby formula - with what money, gods only knew- and apart from the one bottle he had left, the fridge was devoid of food. Well, he had eaten the day before - or was it the day before that? He couldn’t remember and didn’t particularly care, he needed to lose weight anyway- so getting groceries could wait. 

With a short trip to the corner store for the formula now added to his to-do list, Wilbur started to formulate some sort of plan for the day while preparing Fundy her breakfast. The baby grabbed the bottle happily; Wilbur was once again reminded that he should start feeding her more solid foods soon, and added ‘some sort of baby food’ to the short shopping list in his Notes-app. After a quick tally through the apartment, the list gained four more items; toilet paper, replacement blades for his shaving razor, a bottle of vodka and a pre-made salad for himself. He determinedly ignored the fact that he hadn’t used the shaving razor for much longer than a week.

After Fundy had been cleaned up and changed after her breakfast, Wilbur settled her on the play mat and sat down on the sofa. The hours went by quickly, and soon Fundy started fussing on the mat, hungry, tired and bored. Wilbur fed her the rest of the baby formula and put her down for a nap, leaving a baby monitor in the cot next to her. Somewhere in the back of his mind he realized that Fundy probably shouldn’t be going to sleep so late in the day or it’d fuck up her sleeping schedule even more, and that she really, really shouldn’t be left alone in the apartment asleep or not, but Wilbur was quick to brush those thoughts aside. He pulled on a jacket, grabbed his keys, phone and wallet and left the apartment for the first time in days. 

The streets were loud after the relative silence of the apartment complex, and Wilbur glanced up at the dark, cloud-covered sky. He determinedly ignored the couple of men yelling slurs at him from a car window, because he hadn’t been bothered to cover his wings for such a short trip and damn it, they were his wings, he was going to show them off. They were pretty as fuck too. There was a yelling group of people leaning against the front of a nearby bar, and Wilbur was willing to bet actual money that half of them weren’t old enough to be as drunk as they clearly were. He was pretty sure he recognized one of them as his little brother’s- no, Tommy wasn’t his brother, not anymore, not after Wil left them- classmate. Wilbur sped up his steps and slipped through the store’s door as unassumingly as possible. He didn’t need a bunch of teenagers snitching him to the cops or, even worse, Phil himself. He went through the shopping list, grabbed a basket and took a moment to curse whoever had come up with the lighting decisions in the store. 

His head was pounding and the world felt like he was watching it through a glass wall. The sounds were muffled through the cotton that was doing a shit job at replacing his brain at the moment, and the colors looked both more saturated and duller than usual. Distantly, he realized that his hands were shaking. Somebody turned the volume up, and the sounds became even more warbled and distorted. Wilbur was pretty sure that he had just spent ten minutes trying to read the label on a baby formula bottle because the words, although recognizably English, didn’t make any sense in his brain. In the end he gave up and just grabbed the most familiar-looking one before moving down the aisle. 

As Wilbur left the store, he caught his reflection in the glass of the brightly lit display windows next to the shop entrance. He furrowed his brow and watched as the reflection did the same. Somewhere in his muddled brain, he failed to recognize the man on the glass as himself; all of the features were factually correct, sure, but something about him was… off. Wilbur ran a hand through his hair and the Not-Wilbur did the same. He opened his mouth, and Not-Wilbur imitated him. The Not-Wilbur looked like a dream-creature, something his unconscious brain would come up with if somebody asked him what Wilbur Soot looked like. It was unnerving, and Wilbur looked away to catch a middle-aged woman watching him, clearly weirded out and holding her daughter closer to herself. Wilbur raised an eyebrow at the pair before he pushed past them and started his walk back home.

When Wilbur got back to his apartment, it was as quiet as it had been when he had left it. With a quick visit to the bedroom to make sure that Fundy was still asleep and okay, he went to the kitchen and took his time putting away the few things he had bought. His mind was swimming, hazy and unfocused, and his hands had started to shake again. There was a pressure against his temples that hadn’t been there before, pulsating in time with the throbbing behind his eyes. 

After the baby food and formula - it’d been the wrong brand, as he quickly found out- had been put away and the toilet paper had been thrown somewhere in the general direction of the bathroom, Wilbur grabbed the rest of his purchases and made his way to the living room. His body was going through what felt like a very determined attempt at a complete shutdown, his kid was bound to wake up crying in couple of hours, Wilbur was just about to burst into tears himself and he wasn’t going to be clear-minded for any of those things. 

When Fundy finally woke up two hours later, the apartment was dead silent. A bottle of vodka was empty on the living room floor, the ripped-up remains of the razor box were laying abandoned somewhere under the kitchen table, Wilbur was sitting on the sofa with his head in his hands and the salad was still untouched in front of him. The throbbing in his arms had taken over the pain in his head a long while ago, and the alcohol coursing through his veins dulled both of them down to a quiet background hum to Wilbur’s screaming brain. The man’s shoulders shook for a few more minutes before he pulled his sleeves down, wiped his face and got up to go greet his daughter with a bright smile on his face. 

“Hello there, Fundy, angel, my little champion! Did you sleep well? Yeah, dad’s here, c’mere baby, lets go get some food in you, shall we?”


End file.
